


The Unspeakable Vice of the Romans

by wyntre



Series: Bright Star, Would I Were Steadfast As Thou Art [7]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ancient Rome, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-05 20:36:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20279437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyntre/pseuds/wyntre
Summary: "Silence breaks my tongue and subtle fire streams beneath my skin" - Fragment 31V, Sappho





	The Unspeakable Vice of the Romans

**Author's Note:**

> They've been fucking since Rome; send tweet.
> 
> Yes - the title is a Maurice reference.

"I've never eaten an oyster."

"Oh! Well then, let me tempt you- oh, no that's your job."

Crowley gives him an appraising look, half impressed by Aziraphale's overtures. This is new. Crowely needs something to take his mind off Caligula and how abhorrent he is without demonic help. Funny how humans are. 

A split second impulse and Crowley downs the rest of his drink and follows the angel down through the busy streets of Rome to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, where they are squashed together in close quarters.  They order, a dozen oysters each and a flagon of wine between them, shouting over the uproarious table next to them. They're pressed close, shoulder to knee; Aziraphale is warm and soft and Crowley feels strangely drawn to him.

The wine arrives and Crowley pours, Aziraphale chasing a deep red drop off his lips as he drinks. Crowley swallows, feeling his cheeks heat and he watches Aziraphale's adam's apple bob as the wine makes it way down his throat. 

Aziraphale eats agonisingly slowly; using his tongue to lift the flesh of the oysters from their shells. It's obscene. The demon privately wonders what else Aziraphale can do with that deft muscle Crowley finds himself responding viscerally as Aziraphale moans softly around the meal. The hollow of the angel's throat, exposed collarbones begging for his teeth to be dragged across them.  _ Oh for Satan's sake _ .

Aziraphale sucks the juice of the lemon he's been sprinkling on the oysters off his thick thumb, and Crowley nearly discorporates. The angel smirks.  _ What an absolute bastard _ . He knows what this is doing to Crowley. 

Aziraphale looks up at Crowley through long eyelashes, leans in closer and mutters in his ear.

"Shall we, head somewhere more private?"

* * *

The insula Aziraphale is staying in is opulent and in the wealthy part of Rome. Up a set of stairs, a complex mosaic taking up most of the floor. They shed their clothes and Crowley takes in Aziraphale's corporation, all softness and gentle slopes and curves. Such a contrast to his own; all harsh angles, lean and stretched against bone. Aziraphale pins him to the bed, straddling his hips and reaching down between them to fist Crowley's heavy cock in his plump hand. 

"Tell me what you want." The angel runs a thumb along Crowley's slit.

"You." The demon gasps, breath he didn't need forcing its way from his chest at Aziraphale's ministrations.

Aziraphale bites Crowley's long neck as he fucks slowly into velvet heat and Crowley screams. It's rough, deep, intense. It takes all of Crowley's self control to make it last for as long as he can. Aziraphale murmurs nothing in particular, all platitudes and empty promises; hot and breathless against Crowley's flushed skin. As the demon comes apart beneath him, hands pinning wrists to the bed and Crowley all but begging for him;  _ yeah, just like that _ and  _ angel where did you learn that? _

White knuckled, Aziraphale kisses him so thoroughly, so all-consuming and Crowley comes; shaking, desperate, mewling. Aziraphale takes him apart piece by imperfect piece, with infinite patience and terrible angelic power. Aziraphale fucks him through it, chasing his own release. Overstimulated, the only thing Crowley can do is grasp uselessly at the air, tasting wine and oysters and house brown and  _ Aziraphale _ on the angel's tongue. 

The earth shudders as Aziraphale tumbles over the edge, all raw power that could have split the city in half. Crowley's wanton and lax beneath him and, as Aziraphale pulls out his rapidly softening cock; Crowley whines at the loss of contact. 

"Oysters?"

"They're apparently an aphrodisiac," Aziraphale says, winded from effort. "Wanted to see if it was true."

Crowley raises an eyebrow.  _ Well then. _ "And?"

"I think we'll have to run a control test without oysters or wine." 

Crowley groans and pushes Aziraphale into the bed by the shoulders. That can be arranged.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments are loved.


End file.
